Harry Potter and the Walk In
by WinterD
Summary: BtVSAtSHP. After the final battle with W&H, the Fang Gang is surprised to find that Wes isn’t dead. Only probably is, he’s not Wes anymore. And the baggage he brings along, pulls the A.I. team into another adventure even before they’ve recovered from th
1. Default Chapter

Title: Harry Potter and the Walk-In

Rated: PG-13

Summary: Post-GoF, Post-S/7 for Buffy and after the end of Angel. After the final battle with W&H, the Fang Gang is surprised to find that Wes isn't dead. Only probably is, he's not Wes anymore. And the baggage he brings along, pulls the A.I. team into another adventure even before they've recovered from the last one.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all things Buffy and Angel. J.K. Rowling owns all things to do with Harry Potter. I'm just borrowing the characters for my own twisted amusement. Please don't sue me.

AN: Just an idea that sprung from an episode of Unsolved Mysteries, the want for yet another HP/Buffy/Angel x-over, and the fact that every time I look at Wesley I always thought he kind of looked like Harry Potter from the movies. Of course that's just my opinion. Some people may ask why. I say why not. Anyway, I've been wanting to try my hand at writing an x-over for awhile, and this gave me the opportunity. And, for anyone who reads my other stuff, I'm still working on them too, this is just a little side something for me to work on. It can also be found over on Twisting the Hellmouth under winterd, though I did a little rearranging from that version. Not much, but a little. Oh, and the prologue is really, really long, so be prepared. So, hope you all enjoy the story. So, let's get on with it and tell me what you think.

**_Prologue:_**

**_New Life, Old Problems_**

Tonight had been hell. Anyone who was in LA's police department for more than a week knew that odd things happen in the city. It was expected. This was LA, after all. The odd sort seemed to be attracted to the City of Angels for some reason or another. Thusly, cops were taught to handle whatever situation they're in, whether it be a simple giving a traffic ticket or responding to a call about someone who is suffering sever neck trauma, with the utmost care and caution. Tonight, however, tonight would be one of those nights that went down in LA history, right up there with the Watts riots. She should have known better than to come back to LA.

Kate frowned as she walked into yet another building that had been destroyed that night. It was an older building on the far side of town, miles away from the wreckage that was once Wolfram and Hart and the street that had been obliterated due to a 'gas leak', but it had been flattened all the same. She heard one of the forensic guys say that the building looked like it had been tore apart by someone's bare hands. With the things that she knew, Kate wouldn't be surprised if that were actually true.

"Lockley."

She turned to the voice and saw Danny, her new partner, standing next to some rubble. It struck her as odd that he didn't have any dirt on him, but, then, she didn't suppose he was the type to get down on his hands and knees to dig through debris in search of survivors.

Behind him, another uniformed officer pulled tight on a blood hounds leash. Kate doubted that, if anyone had been inside, that they survived, but the dog should at least be able to track down any remains.

"Do we know what happened here?" Kate asked.

Danny shook his head. "Not yet. But I think the head dogs are going to be leaning towards another 'gas leak.'"

Kate's frown tightened a little, but she didn't comment. She knew Danny didn't buy the whole 'gas leak' anymore than she did, but Kate doubted that he knew what she did. He was young still and held out that ideal that their job was to actually find the truth of what happened. He'd learn soon enough, though.

"I take it someone must have already been found if they called us," Kate said.

"Yeah. At least, we think it used to be a 'someone'," Danny said.

He lead her to where several flood lights had been set up and a man with a camera was taking pictures. The plastic sheet that had been covering the body was pulled back, and Kate could make out the very distinct red skin of a demon.

"We think that he must have been burned pretty bad during the explosion," Danny said, kneeling next to the body. "I mean, just look at how red his skin is."

"Yeah," Kate said. "Um…where's his head?"

"We haven't found it yet," Danny said. "But look at his neck. Something must have knocked it clean off his block."

'Or pulled it off,' Kate thought. She could remember seeing Angel fight years back, and she had no doubts that, if he wanted to, he could easily decapitate someone with his bare hands.

"Any idea of who he was?" she asked.

"Not yet. We're looking into who might have been living in the building, but, so far, all we know is that it was owned by - ."

"Wolfram and Hart," Kate said.

"Yeah," Danny said, standing up. "Looks like they're having a hell of night."

"Looks like," she said.

The dog began to howl from the middle of the rubble, causing the two police officers to turn around. The handler bent over to where the dog was and pushed some of the debris aside. Another uniformed policeman got there first and helped the handler pull a large piece of wall off whatever was beneath. A body could be seen under it. As the handler and another officer held the wall up, the policeman bent down and checked the man.

"We've got a live one," he said.

The paramedic, who had been there just to collect the bodies, jumped into action then, gathering the medical supplies and running towards the officers.

Kate caught her breath when she saw who it was. She shouldn't have been surprised, but the large hole in his stomach had caught her off guard.

"You know this guy?" Danny asked.

Kate blinked and realized that he was looking at her.

"Um, yeah," she said with a small nod. "His name is Wesley. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

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He dreamed of girls. Hundreds and hundreds of girls. It wasn't one of those dreams that he would wake up from and pray that no one was in the room with him. No, this one was different from the average teenage boy's dreams of many women. In his dream, the girls weren't waiting to do his every bidding or the things that only a hormonal male's mind could think, they were fighting – battling – darkness and the things that dwell within it; the things nightmares were made of. They were just girls, most his age or only a little older, but they fought as if this was what they were meant to do – as if it were their destiny to fight.

He dreamed of men – warriors. Three men, wielding weapons high in the rain as they ran into a battle they knew they would never be able to win. They had something else with them, something that had once been a woman but was now something else. She had the most power of them all and was certainly not afraid to use it.

Then there was another man. He had been apart of the warriors, but had fallen before the battle had begun. He died, but he lived. It didn't make any sense, but something told him that he would understand someday. Someday soon.

"Harry?"

He opened his eyes when someone began to shake him. Ron still had his hand on Harry's shoulder and offered his friend a smile as he woke. "Sorry to wake you, mate," he said, "but we'll be at Kings Cross soon."

Harry blinked and looked out the train's window. It was getting dark outside and one could make out the city of London they were fast approaching. That was funny. He didn't remember falling asleep. He remember playing exploding snaps and speaking with Fred and George, but he must have drifted off after that.

The twins were pulling their luggage together and exchanging a grin when they took hold of their trunk. After knowing them for so long, Harry didn't even want to know what they could have in there to make them look at each other like that.

"Better get you're stuff together, Harry," Hermione said. Gently, she put the jar that contained Rita Skettler into her trunk and shut the lid. "We'll want to leave as soon as possible after what you three did to Malfoy and his goons."

"Um, right," Harry said. He got up and gathered his stuff like the others, his mind drifting only briefly back to the men and women he had dreamed of, but he shook his head. It had to have been brought on by eating too many chocolate frogs.

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There were memories from that night that he would never get back, and he wasn't very sure if he wanted them anyway. His last clear memory had been standing at the end of the alley with Spike, Gunn, and Illyria, waiting for the demon horde to come at them and claiming the dragon for himself; everything kind of blurred after that. He just remembered bits and pieces; swinging his sword, blood – his or his opponent he didn't know – and heat from a fire. After that, well, he had no idea.

The next clear memory he had was the overpowering smell of closed up must. That was funny. That hundred some odd years he had spent in hell, he never remembered it smelling musty. Burning flesh, yes. Brimstone, most definitely. Old wet sock that had been soaking in used kitty litter, yeah, he even remembered that. But hell smelling like someone's grandmother's house? No, he didn't remember that. Besides shouldn't he be in agony right now instead of in…an extraordinary amount of pain. Okay, maybe this was hell.

"Oh, stop your wimperin'," he heard a distinct and annoying British voice say. "S'not like you haven't been through worse."

Angel forced his eyes opened and found himself staring up at a grandly decorated and familiar ceiling.

The Hyperion? How'd they get here?

With some effort, Angel was able to sit up. Spike was sitting at the round couch they had set up over the pentagram they had used to open a portal and bring Connor back. Two young girls were sitting next to him, one dressing the other's wounds while she watched Spike with a cynical eye. He was ignoring them both and staring at Angel. He nodded his head telling Angel he was right about who he thought they were, slayers.

A few more of the girls walked through the lobby, carrying one of their comrades. They were followed by a familiar looking dark-haired woman dressed in red and who wore long gloves up her arms. They went to his old office where another older Asian-looking woman with tattoos on her cheek held opened the door for them. She caught Angel's eyes for a moment, nodded hello, then shut the door.

Beside the counter stood a group of men, most of which were street kids who looked like they had just been in an all out gang war. The two that stood out, though, was a young man in his twenties wearing a business suit – Angel easily recognized him as Andrew, which explained the slayers. The other was older and someone that Angel hadn't seen before his sea voyage. Even with his head bandaged, Angel recognized the Groosolage.

"What's going on?" Angel asked, slipping his legs off the edge of the couch. God, his head hurt.

"Well, as brilliant as your 'four against an entire army' plan was, Liberache thought we could do with some backup," Spike said.

"Lorne?"

"Right here, Angel Cakes."

Angel looked towards the large stair case and saw the missing member of the A.I. team descending to the lobby. On one side of him was Illyria. Unlike most rest of the group, she had a single scratch on her cheek, the only proof that she had been in any sort of fight. Considering the fighting that she did, it would have been impressive to anyone who didn't know her. To those who did, it came as no surprise.

On the other side of were Connor and Anne. The two had been speaking until they realized that Angel was now awake. Angel frowned. He remembered telling Connor to leave, but, judging by his bandages and the small limp he was walking with, he hadn't listened to him. Somehow, Angel hadn't thought that he would.

In Anne's arms was an infant only a few weeks old. He was small and easily hid in the blankets she had wrapped around him, with only his bald head exposed. Angel knew who the child was and was curious as to why he was here. He turned to Spike, who looked at him as if he were stupid.

"Didn't think I was going to return the sprout to his mother, did you?" He snorted. "Bloody woman sold him to be a sacrifice. Not exactly mother-of-the-year material there."

"You live," Illyria said, stopping with Anne next to where Spike and the slayer sat while Lorne and Connor continued their path to Angel. "I am glad of this." She tilted her head to the side. "Though I do not know why."

"Are you okay?" Connor asked, sitting down next to him.

"I'm fine," Angel said, still trying to take in all the people who were in his hotel. "But where'd all these people come from?"

"California mostly," Lorne said. He glanced over at Andrew and Groo as they approached, followed by Gwen and Jhiera, who had left the slayers in his former office. "Though, I did have to go out of town to get some of the others."

"Hello, Angel," Groo said, bowing. "It is good to see you have started to recover from your injuries."

"Angelus," Andrew said, using his 'I'm cool, let me prove it to you with the tone of my voice' tone. "You have awake, I see."

"Wouldn't be talkin' to him if he weren't, you git," Spike said.

"Yes, true," Andrew said, not changing his tone to save face from Spike calling him on his stupidity. "I'm sure Buffy will be pleased when I inform her that I arrived in time to help save you and the others."

"I wouldn't call standing on the sidelines, calling to your slayers to 'Remember Sunnydale' helping, tweed boy," Gwen said, crossing her gloved arms.

"Indeed," Illyria said, her cold gaze resting hard on Andrew. He squeaked and took a step back to hide from her on the other side of Groo.

"But what are you all doing here?" Angel asked.

"Big Green here got us," Gwen said, stretching her arms over head and pulling them to the side.

"He said you were in need of assistance," Jhiera said. "We agreed to help."

Angel blinked and looked to Lorne. He smiled and waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, that was why I was a little late for the party, but it took longer than I thought to find some of these lovely people."

"You came to help me?" Angel asked. "Why? It wasn't any of your fight."

Jhiera adjusted her coat and tossed some of her now long, jet black hair over her shoulder. Even though he had not seen her in five years, she still looked the same as she had before; still young, still beautiful, and – if she is still standing – still just as deadly. Angel wondered how Lorne had been able to find her and made a note to ask him later when the others were gone.

"I owed you a debt," Jhiera said. "I have repaid it this day."

"Yeah," Gwen said, regarding Jhiera with an equal amount of curiosity and contempt before turning back to Angel. "Speaking of debt, you now owe me fifty-g's."

"Yo, she's getting' paid," one of the street kids said. Angel had never seen him or any of the others with him before, though there was something familiar about them. "That ain't right, man."

Spike had pulled out his cigarettes and was about to light one when he must have seen the confused look on Angel's face. "They're part of Matlock's old crew."

Matlock? Gunn. "Where's Gunn?" Angel asked, looking around the room as if he would appear. "Is he okay? Did he make it?"

"Relax, Dumpling, he made it though with the rest of us. We just had to take him along with some of the slayers and Sushi's girls to hospital is all," Lorne said.

Jhiera glared at Lorne's nickname for her, but didn't say anything.

Angel nodded his head and let out a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't lost another member of his men. "How did we do on casualties?"

"It wasn't as bad as it could have been," Connor said. "The news is already claiming that the destruction was caused by a gas leak that occurred after the earthquake."

Shaking his head, Andrew said with faux sadness, "Victims of Sunnydale Syndrome."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, when are people goin' learn that, sometimes, a gas leak is just an evil demon army tryin' to enact revenge on a group of white hats for taking out their evil henchmen."

"Well," a new voice said. "That's unexpected in an expected sort of way."

Turning rather painfully in his seat, Angel blinked when he saw the blonde-haired woman standing in the hotel's doorway. Much like Jhiera, Kate hadn't changed much over the years. In fact, he would swear she had the same frown on her face when he last saw her.

What was this, anyway? Angel, This Is Your Life day? All that was left now was for Drusilla and Buffy to come bouncing down the stairs, arm-in-arm, congratulating each other on the marvelous kill they each performed in battle last night. Of course, if that did happen, it would either mean that he actually did die last night, along with everyone else in the world, or the apocalypse to end apocalypses was about to happen.

The others who had never meet Kate bristled at her presence, but the only one she seemed concerned about was Illyria. The demon god tilted her head to an unnatural angle as she considered the lady cop, as if she were trying to decide if Kate were some sort of threat to the others that needed to be taken care of. When Kate's hand started to drift towards her gun, Angel decided it would be best if he stepped in before things got out of hand.

"Kate," he said, standing. He winced as a sharp pain shot up his side, but did his best to ignore it. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she said, her eyes cutting back and forth between Angel and Illyria. "We found your friend last night in one of the destroyed building's downtown. Thought you might want to tell me what really happened since I know it wasn't another 'gas leak'."

"You speak of Wesley," Illyria said, her tone as even. Kate held her breath and nodded her head slowly. For a moment, Angel wondered if Illyria would try and harm her for speaking about Wesley. Instead, the demon god simply said, "He was mortally wounded in battle with a demon wizard. I avenged his death by taking the demon wizard's life."

"What are you talking about?" Kate asked, tilting her head to the side. "Wesley's alive."

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The place smelled like a strange combination of a Buddhist temple and a candy shop. Buffy supposed that the sent would normally make a person more relaxed and comfortable, but the fact that she knew that this place was a principal's office – or the magical equivalent to one – put her on edge. See, most people believed that the natural enemy to a slayer was the vampire; she was born to fight them after all. Most people would be wrong. The natural enemy to the slayer was not some undead that stalked the night, or even a demon bent on world destruction. No, the slayer's worst enemy was something far more human than that. Her mortal enemy was the high school principal, and no matter how much this guy reminded her of a kindhearted Santa Claus, she had to remember that.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair, sucking on the lemon drop that the old wizard had offered her. Giles sat next to her, fidgeting in his seat and trying not to look in the direction of the guy with the wacky eye as he and Bubblebee – Dundledee – whatever talked about nothing in particular.

They were waiting for others to come and, though the office was quit large, Buffy couldn't help but wonder how they expected to fit everyone in here. So far, not counting herself, Giles, Wacky Eye, and Mr. I Wannabe Merlin behind the desk, there were at least ten other people pilled into the office. A wicked-looking witch, who reminded Buffy of her mother whenever she was in that I've-Made-My-Decision-And-That's-Final-Young-Lady mode when she was teenager, stood near the desk with her arms crossed, frowning at the two Council members. There was also a greasy looking man dressed in black by the fireplace. Three very redheaded men and a woman were spread about the room, but trying to stand as close together as they could. There was a Samuel L. Jackson impersonator by the windows, and a young woman with baby-blue shoulder length hair next to him. She wasn't much older than Buffy, and was looking from wizard to wizard with a noticeable amount of awe. And the last two people, a witch dressed in green – God, didn't these people ever read fashion magazines? – robes whispered to an older man who was stroking his beard as opened stared at Buffy. Unable to resist, Buffy sneered nastily at the wizard, then slouched down as far as she could in her seat with her arms crossed.

This was stupid. She shouldn't be here. She should have been in LA with Andrew, helping Angel fight Wolfram and Hart. She always knew, deep down, that Angel hadn't turned against them, and that's where she should have gone. Andrew had even asked if she wanted to go, but Giles had talked her out of it. He just had to remind her that she didn't fight in battles anymore, at least not in the way she used to. Now, now she was a leader who fought battles in the off-hands kind of sense. Well, that was she always wanted, wasn't it? Yeah.

So, instead of being in the thick of things, she was here, talking with Beard Boy about the Council's possible involvement in some old wizards war that was threatening to start up again after being on the back burners for the past fifteen years. God, could these guys hold a grudge or what? How sad was it really that – unless it was concerning Angel's doings in LA – that this was the most exciting thing she had heard in the year since she 'officially' retired?

Stupid retirement.

Okay, so retirement hadn't been everything she thought it would be. It was boring and tedious, and, more than once, she had gone on patrol even though she didn't have too; it was still more exciting than sitting here listening to Giles and Mummblemore here discuss the finer points of why physical training in martial arts can be just as important as – God, she couldn't believe she was hearing this – dueling with wands. For a brief second, she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. Somehow, she didn't that anyone here – besides maybe the younger redheads and blue girl – would find the humor that she saw in dueling wands.

"Is everything alright, Ms. Summers?" the old man asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "Perhaps Rupert or myself said something that you find amusing."

Buffy blushed and cleared her thought, hoping that she was wrong and that this guy couldn't read minds. "No, sir. Just, er…something caught in my throat."

She would have sworn that Greasy Guy was sneering at her even more than he had been before. God, did she ever hope that wizards weren't able to read minds because the thought of both Dumbbell and Hook Nose knowing what she just thought…eww.

The door to the office opened, rescuing Buffy from another line of unpleasant thoughts. "Sorry we're late," a man said, entering the office with an overly large dog trotting behind him.

"Remus, dear boy," Dumbledore – that's it! – said. "So glad that you could make it."

"You weren't followed, were you?" Wild Eye asked, his magical eye zooming from one side to the other looking past Remus and his pet.

"No, but you should have warned us about how long your path would take, Mad-Eye," Remus said.

Mad-Eye, that name was fitting, grumbled under his breath as the new guy and his dog – was it staring at her legs? – approached her and Giles. Getting to his feet, Giles adjusted his jacket and extended his hand. "Rupert Giles. And this is Buffy Summers."

"Pleasure," he said, shaking Giles and nodding at Buffy. "Remus Lupin."

Buffy tilted her head to the side. There was something off about this Lupin guy, she just didn't know what. He was making her spidey senses tingle, but not in the way that a vampire or a demon would. Still, there was something about him…

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" she said.

Remus paled considerably, which was quit a feat considering that he was almost completely pasty white anyway. Some of the others in the room bristled, as if she had said the exact wrong thing and had insulted there friend terribly. Even his dog - who had been staring at her legs - she knew he had, began to growl at her. The only who hadn't been insulted – besides Dumbledore – was the Grease Ball, and he was smiling like a child on Christmas morning. It was a frightening sight.

Beside her, Giles sighed and pinched his nose. Okay, so it must have really been the wrong thing to say.

"Hey, look, I have no problem with it if you don't," she said, holding up her hands. "It was just you were making my spidey senses go nuts, and your obviously not a vampire or demon, so it was either a werewolf or a half-demon. I thought the werewolf would be less insulting thing to ask."

"You can sense that I'm a werewolf?" Remus asked.

"Well…yeah. It's kind of part of the slayer package."

If everyone hadn't been staring at her before, they were doing so now. Buffy shifted uncomfortably on her feet, and looked over to Giles. He was just as perplexed by their reaction as she.

"She's the slayer?" someone asked, though Buffy didn't know who.

"Um…yeah, one of them," Buffy said before turning around to Dumbledore. "Didn't you tell them before who we are?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention to you that Ms. Summers is the slayer from Sunnydale?" he asked innocently. The wizards became even more slack-jawed than before – even the dog – and were somehow managing to stare at Buffy and Dumbledore at the same time. "How forgetful of me," Dumbledore said. "Lemon drop anyone?"

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He remembered green.

No, red.

No, no, it was definitely green. Bright. So bright. It was blinding.

Oh, God, Lily run. He's coming. Run. Get Harry and run. He's going to kill us.

Kill. Kill him. He killed Fred.

Fred? Who was Fred?

Love Fred.

No! Love Lily. Love Harry. Love my wife and child.

Wife and child. Run! He's coming!

He's here!

He has red skin.

No, he's human. Voldemort. He's a monster.

They're both monsters. Both want to kill me. Kill us.

He's choking me.

He's standing at the door. His wand is pointed at me. Going to die. Must protect Lily and Harry. All cost.

All cost. Have to destroy him at all cost. Angel's counting on me.

Angel? She looks like an angel. My angel.

Have to protect her.

Protect Harry.

Protect the world.

God, he has a knife. Where'd he get that?

Throw a curse. Get out of the way.

Oh, God…pain.

Move! Move! He's going to kill you!

Dying. Look like her. Want to see her.

Want to see her again. Want to see her smile. Want to see Harry grow up. Got to give them a chance. What I want does matter. They do.

Green. Green coming at me.

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Nancy Lynn walked through the I.C.U., her green scrubs a stark contrast to the sterilized white of the room. There were several rows of bed, all of which were full with patients of varying degrees of critical health. The patients who had just gotten out of heart surgery were there. The girl who had been injured in a deadly car accident. There was even a man here who had survived a cougar attack a few days ago. Her job was to check on them every so often and make sure that their vital signs were good. She was also in charge of taking blood samples, but only in the morning.

She was checking on Mr. Springler when one of the heart monitors started beeping rapidly. It was coming from their newest patient, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. He had been stabbed and was in one of the building that collapsed. When he came in, he was barely clinging to life, but now the doctors were sure that he would recover. If he'd wake up, that is.

Nancy Lynn had barely reached his bed when Mr. Wyndham-Pryce's eyes flew opened. He gasped and thrashed in his bed, fighting off some imaginary force that his mind had convinced him was a threat. That happened every so often, especially when the patient had suffered a great trauma before he was brought in.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice cracking from not having drunk anything for awhile. He tried to clear it and rubbed against it as he did so.

"It's alright, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. You're safe now," Nancy Lynn said in her soothing, bedside manner. "Can you remember what happened?"

He blinked his eyes several times and squinted at her. She knew that his chart had said he was nearsighted, but she had realized he was that bad.

"What?"

"What happened last night," she said. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I…" His face tightened as if he were trying to remember something, but couldn't quit make it out. Apparently giving up on the task, he shook his head and asked, "Where am I? And who's Mr. Wyndham-Pryce?"

Nancy Lynn frowned. This was not a good sign. "You're at Sisters of Mercy Hospital," she said. "And you're Mr. Wyndham-Pryce."

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her as if she had jus told him that the Tooth Fairy was real and had invited him to have tea with her and the Easter Bunny. "Are you daft?" he asked. "I'm not Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. And where in the sodding hell is the Sisters of Mercy Hospital? And where's Lily?"

Blinking, Nanny Lynn said, "Of course you're Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. That's what your ID says. And we've had someone confirm that identity, and she's a police office."

"Well, this poe-lees officer is mistaken," he said, sounding rather aggravated. "Find my wife, Lily. She'll tell you who I am. Or Sirius or Remus will. Where are they, anyway?"

"If you're not Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, than who are you?" Nancy Lynn asked.

Groaning, he placed his hands on either side of his head, as if she were causing him to have a headache. "By Merlin, woman. My name is James. James Potter."

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The seventh floor of the North Tower was generally not a place that people ventured to unless they had business; class, question, teacher meeting. There was always a reason for traveling to the tower, but never for pleasantries. For the first few years, Dumbledore had made effort to come visit the divination teacher, but not so much now. Not that she was surprised by that. She had long ago seen in the stars that he would stop those causal visits eventually. Of course, when she told him as much at the Christmas Feast a few years ago, McGonagall – the nasty woman – didn't have say it was because he was just to old to climb that many steps and the latter. It was written in the stars, she had seen it and that should have been all there was to it.

Trelawney sipped her tea, staring into the crackling fire. True, it made the already hot room nearly unbearable in the summers, but she had found that the heat helped opened up her inner eye to supernatural realm. The sweet, heavy scents helped as well, but that was mainly to make the kids and herself relax. She often found that the students here were far too tense. It was probably why so many of them had such bleak, dark futures. Stress just invites darkness into one's life.

When she drank the last of her tea, Trelawney looked down to see what the tea leaves would tell her. She frowned at what she saw. That couldn't be right.

Placing the cup down, she picked up another clean one, poured herself some more tea, and quickly drank that. When that tea was gone, she looked to its leaves. They, too, said the same as the last cup.

Well, that was certainly unexpected. She wondered briefly if she should say something to Dumbledore, then thought better. The leaves said nothing about telling the Headmaster, and he would find out soon enough as is. No, best let fate play this out as she wished.

In the meantime, she would consult her crystal ball about Professor Snape's future. The last time she had seen him, she had seen a very dark times ahead. Strangely enough, his love life looked like it was about to pick up. Though, she foresaw that the girl would be dead before anything could be made of it, the poor dear. Still better than spending a life with Snape, the awful man.

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It was always so cold, even on the hot days. Winter, spring, summer, fall, they were all the same here. Always bleak. Always cold. Always with the breath of death and of insanity lingering in the air. But it had to be cold. Cold as sin. This was where sin lived.

This was hell.

Did she deserve to be here? – 'NO, FATHER! NO! LEAVE US ALONE!' – She couldn't see how. She was only doing – 'RUN, CISSA! RUN ANDROMEDA! HIDE IN OUR SECRET PLACE!' – what any witch or wizard in their right mind would do. These muggles, they kill themselves all the time. They were weak minded and – 'MERLIN OR GOD OR WHOEVER IS LISTENING, DON'T LET HIM FIND US.' – dangerous. No better than cattle. Not fit to rule over anything or one. They only know how to kill each other. – 'I'LL KILL ALL THREE OF YOU IF YOU DON'T GET OUT HERE NOW!' – The mudbloods come from them. They're just as weak. Just as dangerous.

'QUIET, QUIET. IT'LL BE OKAY.'

They had to be stopped. Why couldn't the Ministry see that? Why couldn't that fool Dumbledore – 'DON'T MAKE A SOUND. DON'T BREATHE.' – see that? They're locus, a plague on the world, devouring everything in their path. They don't know how to give. Just take. Everything. There's no peace – 'STOP IT! STOP IT!' – while they were still among them. There couldn't be. Not while they were still being give such great power – 'ONE DAY I'LL HAVE MORE POWER.' – so easily. Power they'll never use for anything worth wild in the long run but to destroy one another and to pull the wizarding world down with them in the process. They kill them all one day.

'I'LL HAVE MORE POWER AND I SWEAR BY MERLIN THAT I'LL KILL YOU.'

Her Master has the right idea. Keep them out. Keep the lines pure. At least then when they kill off each other completely – 'DON'T YOU LAUGH! I WILL! I SWEAR IT!' – their world would be spared from the savages destruction. They had to protect their world.

Was it their fault that muggles and mudbloods could only understand brutality? That violence was the only way they could clearly see that their sort should not be mixed among their betters? She didn't think so. So, no, she didn't belong here.

Her arm had begun to burn again over the last…month? Year? Second? Her Master was back – 'HELLO, FATHER. IT'S BEEN TO LONG.' – just as she knew he would return. His mission was to important not to be carried out. He must succeed if they were to survive.

"The strong survive," Bellatrix said with a cracked voice.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!'

Her empty, shrilled laugh echoed off the stone cell walls.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

James shifted irritably in his bed, wishing for the millionth time since he woke up that he was in St. Mungo's instead of this muggle hospital. Oh, he knew it had to be a muggle hospital because no magical hospital would treat their patients as pin cushions like these people were determined to do. He had been poked, prodded, and scanned so many times that it was a wondered that he was still alive. Didn't Poppy always say that muggle medicine was next to archaic and far more dangerous than the aliments of the patient? After spending just three days here, James believed it.

Though, he would admit that these muggles devices were far more advanced than he previously thought they were. When Lily had talked him into going to that muggle peditishon or whatever she called that baby doctor, the devices they had used on her to see if Harry were alright were no where near as advanced as the things they used on him. They must have made tremendous strides in last couple of years.

But the muggle medicine wasn't what was really bothering him. What bothered him was the fact that no one would tell him anything and were treating him as if he were mad. It was just so aggravating. No one believed him when he said he was James Potter, they kept insisting that he was this Wyndham-Pryce bloke, and no one would tell him where Lily or Harry where.

He had at least gotten out of them why he was there, though, he highly doubted what they said. Stabbed and being in a building that exploded? That couldn't be right. The last thing he remembered was…

Damn, he had a second ago. He remembered that he had to protect Lily and Harry, but why? What was so dire? If he could only just remember.

"Good evening, Wesley," a chipper woman's voice said.

James looked up and did his best impression of Snivellous trademarked scold he had used against the Marauders since first year, but it fell flat when he saw that it was Sarah and not that awful Nurse Hennessey – or, as James liked to refer her to as, Voldemort in a dress.

Voldemort. Something to do with Voldemort. That's why he and Lily and Harry had to hide. Wasn't it?

Sarah walked around his bed and pulled up a chair, which screeched horribly as she did so. Sarah was a nice enough. She was a little older than James, probably somewhere in her early thirties, though she dressed like the muggle Queen Mum. Her reddish brown hair – no where near the vibrant fire color of Lily's hair – was often pulled back into a loose ponytail and her oversize glasses gave her an owlish look. It reminded him of the time Harry had gotten his glasses and tried them on. Merlin, that seemed long ago.

"How are you feeling, Wes?" she asked, pulling out her pen to write on the clipboard she carried.

Did he forget to mention that Sarah was also one of those doctors that muggles went to when they went crazy? A psychiatrist, he believed they called them. And one who had worked with this Wesley fellow to boot at something they called the Watcher's Council, whatever that was. Another Watcher – Lord, these muggles were strange – had heard that poor Wesley had lost his mind and asked her to come try and get his memories back. So far, she had determined that he was having what she called a 'disassociate disorder' brought on by the stress of a near death experience. She didn't seem to understand he _was_ James Potter, and, if she would just get him a wand, he would prove it to her. No luck there, yet, though.

In her attempt to prove to him that he was this Wesley bloke, she had made him look in the mirror so he could see that he wasn't James Potter. James admitted, when he saw the stranger's reflection staring back at him, it was alarming and confusing because he knew who he was, but not the face staring back at him.

He then remembered the time Sirius had 'accidentally' cast that spell on Remus so he looked like himself as a female for a week. Sirius had been aiming for Snivellus, but Remus had gotten in the way. Poppy was thrown for a real loop that time. What made it worse was the fact that Sirius couldn't understand why Remus was so mad for having to pretend to be Renee Lunar - a student visitor according to Dumbledore. After all, the male student body, who didn't know who Renee really was, had concluded that she was hot and done all they could to catch her eye. Plus, Sirius pointed out, he could look at himself naked anytime he wished. Still, Remus never saw the humor or the advantage of being a girl.

But, back to the point at hand, James knew that there were spells out there to make one look like someone else, even for a long amount to time. And with the spell that he and Lily had used to hide, he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if alteration in appearance was a common side effect. That was also probably the reason why they couldn't find Lily. She just looked like someone else right now, but she was fine. She just had to be. And when he got out of there, he would find her, and they would go to Dumbledore and get him to lift the spell so he could look like his old self and all would be normal again. Yes, that's what he'll do.

"My name is James," he said. He might like Sarah well enough, but he wasn't about to let her call him by someone's name.

Sarah's smile wavered a bit. "I'm sorry – James. But how are you feeling?"

"As well as could be expected being stuck in this bloody muggle hospital," he said.

He had quickly found that, unlike most the rest of the staff, Sarah was not ignorant to the magical side of the world. In fact, she seemed quit versed in. She still didn't believe him, but at least he was able to speak freely around her.

"You know as well as I do that there aren't any suitable magical hospitals around here," she said. "And they wouldn't admit you anyway, being muggle and all."

"I'm not a muggle!" James said. "I'm -."

"James Potter, I know," Sarah said. "But, really, Wes, how can you be James Potter? You know he's dead."

"I am not. I'm right here," he said. "If you would just find my friends, they'll tell you and we can get this whole thing sorted out."

Sarah drew in a deep breath and smiled at James. "Capital idea," she said, putting the clipboard on the bed and heading towards the door.

"You found my friends?" James asked. "You found Lily?"

Sarah shook his head. "We didn't find her, but I do have your friends here. They would like to see you, too, if that's alright."

James nodded his head. Thank Merlin she had found Remus and Sirius and Peter – _no, not the rat! Keep him away_. James shook his head, freeing himself from the thought. Why wouldn't he want to see Peter? He was his friend as much as Remus and Sirius were. Wasn't he?

Shrugging the thought off, James pushed himself up as much as he could in the bed. At least with the others here, they could finally start to get to the bottom of things.

However, when Sarah opened the door, two men that James had never seen before walked in. One was large and had his hair gelled back. He was much larger than the other fellow, who wore a long black duster and had shockingly blond hair. James bristled at the sight of him. He wasn't a Malfoy, he could tell since his hair had to have been altered, but he still looked enough like one to put James on edge.

"Who are you?" James asked, looking from one to the other. There was something off about them. Something…dark.

The men exchanged a look, then the taller one said, "Wes, it's us. Your friends."

"Well, he's your friend," the blond one said. "I'm not."

James blinked. A fellow English man. Maybe he was wrong about the 'not a Malfoy' thing.

"That is not Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," a new voice said.

James peered around the two men and saw a woman standing there. She was holding a vase full of flowers that had several balloons attached to it. If she smiled, the brown-haired woman would have appeared friendly. However, the frown that she directed his way made James reflectively reach for his wand, even though it wasn't there.

She charged forward, shoved the vase and flowers into the big ones arms, and glared at the James. "You are not Wesley," she said. "Who are you?"

"Blue," the blond one said. "That's Wes. Just look at him."

"You dare trust those pathetic half-breed senses over my judgment?" she asked him coldly. The challenging words caused everyone in the room to move away from her. "That is not Wesley. He is an imposter." She tilted her head to the side and James would have sworn that her hair and face flashed blue. "We must kill the imposter."

She began to take a step towards James, but the larger man placed his hand on her shoulder. "How about we find out who he is first," he said.

"How about you talk like I'm bloody well here," James said.

The dark haired man at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but the woman continued to stare at James as if he were something stuck on her shoe that she needed to be rid of. From beside the door, Sarah was watching the exchange with a great deal of curiosity. And the blond shrugged as he flopped down into one of the seats the hospital provided.

"Well, if he ain't – eh, sorry, mate. If you're not Watcher Boy, than who are you?"

James groaned and pressed his palms into his eyes. Here they go again.

Merlin, help him.

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	2. Chapter One

AN: Disclaimer and summary with prologue.

Okay, I know it's been awhile, but I finally got the new chapter. :-)

Special thank you to my great beta, afterlife, and also thank you those who took time to review.

Well, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter, and I'll try to get the next one out soon.

_**Chapter One: **_

_**Cold Day in July**_

The building pulsated like a human heart; there was no other way to describe how it felt. The mixture of deafening music, chatter, and alcohol seemed to give the place a hungry life that could never be sated. Light and smoke flashed on the overexposed flesh of the people, who twisted and turned in a primitive dance that had only been suitable for the bedroom when he was young.

Remus had never considered himself old – in fact, there were quite a few people here who looked to be around his age – but this place made him feel as if he were a hundred. Really, he couldn't have felt more out of place if he had been made to present a case to the Wizengamot arguing for the extermination of all werewolves and half-breeds.

"You know, a flashing neon sign hanging over your head saying 'I Don't Belong Here' wouldn't be as obvious as you're being right now."

Remus looked up from his half-empty bottle of hops to find Buffy frowning at him from across the table. Like many of the other patrons of this 'fine' establishment, she was dressed in far too few clothes, and the clothes she did have on pulled too tightly and threatened to leave her exposed at any moment. When they had left Grimmauld Place that evening, she had mentioned something about her outfit being her 'clubbing clothes.' Whatever she called it, her outfit had rendered Ron incapable of lifting his eyes off the ground, while causing Sirius to slip into his old 'Every Girl Wants to Date Me, But I Want to Talk to You' ways that Remus hadn't seen since their days at Hogwarts. He wondered when Sirius would realize he didn't stand a chance with this slayer – especially now that she knew he had been Remus' 'dog' that had taken every opportunity to put his head in her lap during their first meeting in Dumbledore's office. After that, Snape had a better chance of dating this girl than Sirius.

"Sorry," Remus replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The jeans – borrowed from Bill Weasley – itched, and the too-large shirt made him feel as if he were wearing a pup tent. "It's just so loud here. And these 'clothes' itch."

"That's what makes it fun - the loudness, not the itching," Xander said from his seat next to Remus. "Well, until you get old, then it just gives you a headache."

Xander Harris was a strange, one-eyed muggle who spoke in riddles that often only he, Buffy, her friends, and at times Hermione seemed to understand. That being said, Remus found himself rather fond of the young man. In the few weeks since he and the other 'Scoobies' had joined the Order, he had shown himself to be a good friend to those around him. He didn't judge Remus because he was werewolf, nor for that matter did any of Buffy's other friends. It was refreshing to meet a group of people who didn't cringe the moment they found out that he was different. But then, he supposed that hardly any of them would be considered normal.

"I'm not old," Remus said.

"Yeah, you're what? Forty-nine? Fifty?" Xander asked.

"Thirty-four," Remus replied. Forty-nine or fifty! Merlin, he knew he had some gray hair, but he didn't look _that_ old.

"See, you're way too young to be complaining about the music," Buffy said, taking a sip of her soda. "So why don't you quit with the old-man routine and relax, or we're never going to catch anything."

"I still don't understand why we're here," Remus said. "I thought vampires frequented graveyards and such."

"Only the newly risen," Buffy said.

"And those who don't want to pay rent," Xander added.

Buffy gave her old friend a heated look, but he chose to ignore it by swallowing the last of his beer. She continued, "To older ones and the ones who make it out of the cemetery, places like these are like fast food restaurants." She shifted in her seat and looked out over the crowded dance floor. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she surveyed the crowd, then lit up when she spotted whatever it was she had been looking for. "See the girl with the really long neck," she said, pointing.

It took Remus a few minutes to spot the girl. She was young, probably too young to even be in the club, with sunflower-yellow hair twisted into two long braids which hung over each of her shoulders. To him, she looked quite a bit like she belonged on one of those American muggle farms in the Midwest, not chatting with some bloke in a trendy club in London.

"What about her?" Remus asked. "Is she a vampire?"

"No," Buffy answered, reaching under the table for her purse. She pulled out a stake, which promptly disappeared somewhere on her person. "The guy she's with is, though."

Buffy rose from the table quicker than he thought was possible and disappeared into the general area where the girl and the vampire had been. After a bit of fumbling, he and Xander managed to follow, but neither one had much luck in finding her or the girl.

"Let's head out back," Xander said loudly. Remus supposed that, since Xander could hardly hear himself above the music, he thought he needed to nearly shout in order for Remus to hear him. But thanks to his werewolf hearing, Remus could hear him fine.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because that's where vampires always take their victims," Xander said, leading them towards an exit. "A dark alley, a dark corner, a dark room. Anywhere completely absent of light is where they like to do their snacking."

Remus frowned and checked his wand. Thankfully, it was still holstered in the back of his pants. He briefly thought of one of Mad-Eye's stories about how a wizard lost his bum for doing so, but Remus couldn't think of any other place to put it that wouldn't draw the muggle's attention. But, if the couple who were nearly copulating in the corner of the building provided any insight into the mindset of this club, then Dumbledore could run through the crowd, throwing curses and hexes, while wearing only the Sorting Hat, and no one would notice.

Remus shuddered at the thought.

"Remind me again why I had to come to this place instead of Sirius," he said as they reached the back area. It smelled like a combination of alcohol, Snape's office, and the divination classroom in the North Tower. Not a pleasant scent at all.

"You mean besides the whole 'Wanted Criminal' thing?" Xander asked, pushing open the door to the fire exit. "Well, there's A, the fact that you're a werewolf and therefore vamps don't want to make you do an impression of a juice box because they don't like the taste of wolf blood. And there's B, the fact that the Buffster would probably end up slaying him instead of the vamps."

Remus sighed, then started to make another comment when he heard something crash in the alley beside the club. Without another word, the two men took off in that direction. The closer they got, the more distinct the sounds of a fight became.

When they reached the end of the alley, Remus skidded to a stop and pulled Xander back just in time to miss having a very irate vampire crash into him. Instead, the creature landed hard on his back and skidded several feet, before slamming into a garbage bin, bending the metal shell inward.

Remus turned to where the vamp had come from and saw Buffy duck as another vampire - a larger male with an infatuation with tattoos - swung at her. Her fist struck out at the same instant, punching the creature in the stomach, making him double-over. She then threw an uppercut, knocking the creature off his feet. He had hardly landed when she staked him.

While she looked back into the darkness to see if there were any more, Xander and Remus ran to the young woman the vampires had been feeding on. She was dazed and had some nasty neck wounds, but it appeared that she would be alright. Now that Remus was able to get a good look at her, it seemed to him that there was something very familiar about her.

"Look out!"

Remus ducked to the right as the words left Buffy's mouth, just missing being tackled from behind by the other vampire. It growled from missing its prey, then launched himself at Remus again, its fangs bared.

"Incendio," Remus said, pointing his wand at the creature.

The vampire's eyes widened as a small fire began to burn on his chest, a fire that quickly grew and engulfed his whole body. It screamed and clawed at Remus, before stumbling backwards and dissolving into a pile of ash.

"Not bad," Buffy said, kicking at the ash before some of it was caught up by a stray wind. "You'll have to show me how you did that sometime."

"Right," Remus replied, wondering how it was possible for someone to fight as hard as she had just done and not break a sweat.

"You okay?" Xander asked, helping the injured girl to her feet. She swayed a bit, so he held her up.

"Just a tad lightheaded 's all," she said. She took one step and fell right back into Xander's arms. "Okay, a mite more than a tad, I suppose."

That voice. Remus knew that voice. "Tonks?"

With quite a bit of effort, she raised her head, blinked heavily, then smiled. "Wotcher, Remus."

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked.

Tonks blinked again at Buffy, as if she were surprised to see her there. "I w-was looking f-for…" Her words trailed off as she passed out.

Xander scooped up the now petite woman into his arms. "We should get her back to the house," he said. "She's lost a lot a blood."

Remus nodded. "I wonder how they got the better of her," he said, pulling out the gum- wrapper port key Dumbledore had given them in case of emergencies. "She's a fully- trained Auror."

"Probably wasn't expecting two of them," Buffy said, picking up a wand that had gone unnoticed until that point. It was still in one piece, but had a large crack going up the middle as if someone had thrown it with all their might against the brick wall. "They got the drop on her. Happens to the best of us," she said, handing the nearly broken wand to Remus. "Come on. Let's go before she gets worse."

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She did not understand these humans and half-breeds. The longer she was among them, the more convinced she became that the Powers That Be must favor their kind for some unfathomable reason because, without their help, there would have been no way that their races could have made it this far in time.

They were weak.

They were idiotic.

They were emotional.

They were odd.

Yet, in the time since her return, she had yet to meet one as odd as James Potter. Even the half-breed Spike made more sense than he did.

When they first met James Potter, he had repeatedly demanded that they find a wizard named Dumbledore and his friends Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew – Potter's heart rate increased and his body temperature decreased at the mention of this last human, yet he himself did not seem to notice – as well as his own mate and spawn, Lily and Harry Potter. It had annoyed Illyria that Potter thought himself so important that he expected her to do as he commanded, as if she were some lowly creature meant to do his bidding. He finally stopped his demands when she dropped the shell – the façade of Winifred Burkle -- and showed him her true self. She had seen the bright glint of fear in his eyes, yet he covered for it by becoming more defiant and calling her, the vampires, and the Watcher doctor Sarah Mallory "Death Eaters." Illyria had been known by many names before, but an Eater of Death had never been one of them. The half-breeds and Watcher doctor had been insulted greatly.

The reappearance of Lorne, the irritating green demon, a few days later had not helped to improve James Potter's attitude towards them. She had wished to put an end to his threats of death and calls for their 'master', but the half-breed Angel had asked her not to hurt him. It was only her shell's leftover feeling of gratitude towards Angel as well her own minute respect for the vampire that kept her from doing so.

It had taken them a week to make James Potter comply with their wishes for him to sing so that Lorne could tell the vampires and the Watcher doctor what Illyria had already told them the first time she saw him. He was not Wesley, only a spirit who had inhabited his shell just as she had inhabited Winifred Burkle's after her demise. But there was an important difference: she was an all-powerful demon god, while James Potter was merely a lowly human wizard.

The Watcher doctor had found the entire subject fascinating and had proceeded to read all of Wesley's books as well as her own to find anything relating to the reinhabitation of a body by a different soul.

The vampires had been less clear on their feelings towards the new personality in their old friend's body. She had noticed that the leader Angel had taken to brooding more than he usually did in his tiny hotel office. The blond one Spike acted as if he did not care, but he often smelled of whiskey or bourbon, more so than before the battle. He must have been drinking with Lorne, though the demon himself often smelled of sea breeze.

The bald one Gunn took the arrival of James Potter far better than the others. Indeed, he appeared not to be affected at all by the news. The vampire Spike said that was because the hospital had drugged him like 'a hippy at a pro-hemp convention,' whatever that meant. He told her once the drugs wore off, he too would be upset at the loss of their friend.

Of all of them, though, the one who had taken the situation the worst was James Potter. At first, he had insisted that this was a trick set about by a wizard named Voldemort and that they could not fool him. However, in the middle of his asinine chatter, he unexpectedly recited one of Wesley's memories, in which ghosts had taken over the bodies of Angel and the seer woman Cordelia. Upon realizing this, he suddenly became quiet and despondent.

By the time they had brought him to the hotel, James Potter had become depressed, more so each time one of Wesley's memories surfaced. He no longer insisted that they find the others. Instead, he insisted that they do not.

He was an odd human, even for a wizard.

"Do you no longer wish to return to your life?" she asked.

It was now the end of July and James Potter had grown more agitated and melancholy. He did not wish to speak with those around him, and, when he did, he often said one thing while his tone indicated that he actually meant it a different way. The half-breed Spike called it sarcasm.

James Potter was sitting on a stone bench in the hotel's garden entrance, watching the sunlight in the jasmine. He briefly turned to look at her when she spoke, then went back to his staring.

"You again," he said.

Illyria tilted her head. "You wish me to leave." It was not a question.

"No, stay and build a bloody shrine to Wendelin the Weird for all I care."

Her head jerked to the other side at an odd angle as she continued to observe him.

"That was sarcasm."

"Yeah, it was. Now will you leave me bloody well alone?"

"I asked you a question," she said. "I demand an answer."

Once more, he turned to look at her, but this time his eyebrows were scrunched together while his mouth hung open. The thought that he might catch some flies if he left his mouth like that passed through Illyria's mind, but she quickly dismissed it as a lingering phrase her shell would have used. It was inappropriate anyway. The phrase felt playful, and James Potter did not look as if he felt such a way at this moment.

"Why do I have to answer you?" he retorted.

Illyria let her shell's eyelids drop slightly. She had found that others feared her more when she 'glared' at them. "I am Illyria, the demon god. My vast army obliterated my enemies and all those who stood against me. I have caused humans, half-breeds, and demons to fear even to whisper my name. My throne was built upon the bones and blood of countless weaklings such as yourself. And you dare question what I demand, pathetic human?"

James Potter stared at her for several moments, then turned his back on her. Fool's bravery; James Potter appeared to have vast amounts of it.

"You and I have some things in common, I suppose," he said. "Not that I had a throne of blood and bones, but that neither of us belong here. And neither of us can go back."

"It is true my army was destroyed," Illyria replied, "but the Watcher doctor says that your friends do live. She can contact them. Why do you wish her not too?"

"And say what? 'Oh, hello all. I know I don't look or sound like I used too, and I've been dead for fourteen years, but it's me, James - Prongs. Well, now, who's up for some tea and exploding snaps?'"

"You were using sarcasm again," she said.

"Yeah, I was," he sneered. "Now why don't you toddle off and bother another of the blasted sods who live here."

"I still wait for my answer."

Sighing, James Potter pushed his glasses up his face and rubbed one of his eyes with one of his palms. Illyria found that he often did this when he was annoyed.

"Lily's gone and Harry's grownup not knowing me," he said, sounding very tired. "They'll all be better off not knowing that I'm here."

"Are you better off without them? Without your spawn, now that your mate is dead?"

Spinning around on the bench, James Potter directed an angry look at her. It had no effect on her.

"Why the bloody hell do you care?" he snapped.

She tilted her head. "I do not, but your moping annoys me."

Her words made him seethe in anger, and he once more turned his back on her. "I answered your sodding question, now leave me alone."

Illyria stood there for several minutes, then turned back into the hotel. James Potter was very odd and annoying and was becoming more so every day. Since the vampire Angel had made her swear an oath she would not harm him, she would have to find another way to put an end to his foul temper.

In the meantime, she would find the half-breed Spike. She felt like hurting something.

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Buffy yawned as she walked towards her small apartment. It wasn't as if she didn't have any other places to stay – Giles had offered his spare bedroom and Sirius had insisted that they could find a bed for her at Grimmauld Place, though she was pretty sure he was referring to _his_ bed – but Buffy liked staying in her own place too much to impose on anyone for too long.

Once it became clear that she would be spending quite a bit of time in Great Britain helping out against this Valuemart guy, she got Giles to find her a place to live while she was there. It was nice to get away from the craziness that followed both her and the wizards and just relax with some alone time. And, if she did get lonely, Giles didn't live too far from her place and both Xander and Willow – who had agreed to come help with the fight against Voldie -- were staying with him. Though, Buffy thought that Willow had really come to get away from Kennedy and anything that was a reminder of her. A few months before, Buffy received a call from her distraught friend who told her that the pair had broken up because Kennedy had decided she didn't want to date Willow exclusively and had been seeing at least three other girls at the same time. Nothing like an insane Wizarding Lord bent on world domination to take your mind off of cheating girlfriends, Buffy supposed.

She dropped her keys into a small bowl beside her door and stretched her arms over her head. It was good to be home after a night like the one she had just had. After getting Tonks back to the Order's headquarters, she had spent the rest of the night giving an account to Dumbledore and all of the other Order members who had heard that Tonks had been attacked by a vampire. When she had finished with them, she had to stop by the Council's headquarters to file a report about the incident, check to make sure that the other slayers in town had made it back, and then call Dawn for their weekly check-in. Now, all she wanted was to crawl into her bed and sleep for the next few days.

Buffy's eyes cut to her living room when a shadow moved. Something was there. She could feel it.

So much for bed just yet.

Quietly, she turned to the stand with the key bowl on top of it and pulled open the drawer. She gripped the stake inside and headed into the living room.

It was dark and quiet; the only light provided was the faint street lights filtering through the windows and the flashing green 12:00 from the VCR. Her eyes scanned from one side of the room to the other, but none of the shadows moved. He was here, though. She knew it.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and Buffy reacted on instinct. Grabbing it, she flipped the person who was attached to the hand over her head and onto her coffee table. The flimsy piece of furniture exploded when he landed, and Buffy's stake was already traveling towards his chest before he had even hit the ground.

"Buffy," he said with a familiar Italian accent.

The sharp point of the stake was barely pressing against the expensive silk shirt. Buffy blinked and looked at her intruder. "Michael?"

The Immortal smiled up at her. "Hello, darling."


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer and summary found with prologue.

Thank you once again to you guys who reviewed and to my beta, afterlife, who caught my many, many mistakes. Thanks hon!

Well, I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter.

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_**Chapter Two:**_

_**Hello, Goodbye, Hello Again**_

He didn't like this place. The moment he'd first walked through its doors the year before, he had gotten a bad feeling about it. That and a face full of dust. He wondered what that muggle caretaker had done during all those years he'd lived here because it was obvious that he hadn't taken care of the house or the grounds. Not that there had been anyone here to complain, but for his Master to have to live in such a filthy place was despicable.

His Master was whole now; whole and ready to announce his presence to the world once more. Well, he _was_ ready for his grand announcement. The Potter boy had to go and ruin his entrance. Such a nasty boy. Always looked too much like James. Not to mention he'd ruined his life with Weasleys. He would have been completely content to spend the rest of his days as a pet rat, being cared for and loved by whichever sibling he was passed to. But that nasty boy had to wreck everything. Now, he was reduced to hiding in a dirty house, praying that the Master and the other Death Eaters didn't notice him, and sneaking a meal whenever he could, since most of the food was reserved for the Master. He didn't eat until after the Master did – though he often had to test the food before allowing the Master to consume it. With Snape around, one couldn't be too careful.

Speaking of food, he was getting hungry. He wondered if the house elves that Malfoy had donated to serve the Master would make him a sandwich. _Yeah, a big one, with lots of cheese._

"Wormtail," the Master called.

Peter squeaked and slowly moved from his shadowy corner towards the high-back chair where Lord Voldemort sat. The crackling fire made the room unbearably hot, but he dared not voice such a complaint. If the Master was comfortable, then he was as well.

"Yes, Master," he said, squatting low to the floor beside the chair.

Nagini, who had been curled up in front of her master like a reptilian bloodhound, lifted her head and watched Wormtail carefully, as if she hoped he would turn into a rat and be her dinner. He wanted to move away from her, but he was more afraid of what Lord Voldemort would do to him if he did.

"There is a man at the door," Voldemort said, lacing his long, bone-white fingers together. "Let him in."

"No need for that," a new voice said. "I just let myself in."

Wormtail yelped and fell back onto his bum, sending a puff of dust into the air. Nagini hissed at him, and Peter scrambled away from her.

The stranger coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. "You know, being an evil Dark Lord is no excuse for uncleanliness. If you want, I know a girl who works cheap. I could give you her number."

Wormtail watched the stranger. He looked like a muggle, dressed in a strange three-piece outfit with tiny strips. His dark hair was slicked back and he stood like he was waiting for the Knight Bus, not standing before the great Lord Voldemort. This muggle would not last long.

To Peter's great surprise, his Master chuckled at the man, then made his charmed chair turn around to face the intruder. To his credit, the muggle didn't flinch when he saw what the great Lord Voldemort had been reduced to. In fact, his face kept the same composed, even expression that it had when he walked into the room.

"Didn't your muggle parents teach you any manners?" Voldemort asked.

"They could have, but I can hardly remember that far back."

"I suppose you can ask them when I send you to see them," Voldemort said, lifting his wand rather lazily in his hand. "Perhaps you will be kind enough to give me your name before I send you on your way."

"Which name do you want? I have a ton of them."

Voldemort smirked. "Any will do."

"I suppose you can call me what most people do," he said, "the Immortal."

A high-pitched laugh echoed through the room. "Well, not for long, muggle." His wand shot towards the muggle, slicing through the air with a hiss. "Avada Kedavra!"

A green light slammed into the muggle's chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing into the doors. The wood cracked from the impact, as the muggle's body now slumped motionlessly against it.

Sighing, Voldemort sat back in his chair. "That was far too lofty of a title for him. Get rid of him, Wormtail. And remind me to have a talk with Notts and Rookwood about their security measures."

Wormtail nodded and stood up, being sure to keep his head down as he passed his Master. The chair's legs began to turn the chair around when the muggle groaned and began to move. Peter yelled, and once more found himself on the ground, cowering away from the body. From his chair, Voldemort watched with a great deal of curiosity as the muggle's head slowly rose.

"I thought you were smart enough to know what the word 'immortal' meant," the muggle said, wincing as he moved to stand.

"How is that possible?" Voldemort demanded. "How could you survive the killing curse? No one can withstand it."

"Except for a boy with green eyes," the muggle said. He wobbled on his feet a bit, but was soon able to stand without a problem.

Growling, Voldemort got to his feet and once again pointed his wand at the intruder. "I demand to know," he said.

"Or you'll what? Kill me again?" the muggle snarked.

"I know some curses that are far worse than death," Voldemort replied.

The muggle snorted and crossed his arms. "And I'm sure I've experienced them all. But you have to understand I did not come here to fight with you."

The slits of the Master's eyes narrowed as he considered what the muggle said. "Why did you come here?"

It was then that the muggle smiled a smile that was almost as chilling as the Master's own. "I have a business proposal for you, my Lord."

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The first week of August was turning out to be one of the hottest and driest in recent history. The long days wasted away into short, hot nights that were filled with demon and vampire activity that Buffy hadn't seen even during her years on the Hellmouth. Really, she thought that the things that go bump in the night took the summers off. Or maybe they just did in Sunnydale, due to the annual spring apocalypses spending most of their energy. Whatever it was, she wished the demon community in London would do the same thing. Especially with it being as hot as it was outside.

She was just glad Michael had business to attend to tonight. Since his arrival in London a little over a week ago, he had hardly given her a moment alone. She liked the guy and all, and thought he was definitely boyfriend material, but it was hard to slay demons while your significant other was trying to convince you to keep them alive because they would owe you later and might provide some useful information. True as that may be, innocent people would get hurt if she did that and she couldn't allow that to happen. Michael didn't seem to understand that.

God, why couldn't she have a normal boyfriend – or possible boyfriend – just once?

"Ugh," she said, flopping onto one of the kitchen table chairs in Grimmauld Place.

Following her were Remus and Xander, both looking as hot and disgusting as Buffy did. Xander's tee-shirt had bits of mud and dirt clinging to it around the logo for a South African hotel. Remus' newly-bought muggle clothes were ripped and covered in grass stains; his graying hair now had a solid brown color thanks to the dirt from a freshly-dug grave. He was also sporting a black eye that had just started to change colors.

From the end of the table, Sirius and Willow stared at the trio while Mrs. Weasley shrieked. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, before launching herself at Xander, who happened to be the one closest to her. She twisted his head from side-to-side, checking for injury at every possible angle before moving on to Remus.

"Merlin, what happen to you three?" Sirius asked.

"We found a nest," Buffy answered as Mrs. Weasley cast a healing charm on Remus's black eye.

Willow moved to the chair closest to Buffy's and looked from her to the guys. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Peachy," Buffy replied with a large smile, though she winced from the pain of one of her cracked ribs. When she saw Willow's concerned face, she joked, "Hey, you should see the other guy."

"Oh, look, here's a piece of him," Xander said, brushing some of the dust off himself. "And I think Remmy here has some of the others in his hair."

Remus glared at Xander, and Buffy just kept herself from laughing at them. "Please do not call me that," he said.

"Yeah, call him Renee, he loves that one," Sirius said.

"Renee?" Buffy asked, chuckling.

Remus growled. "Sirius."

"Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class?" Xander asked with a large smile.

Sirius barking laugh rang throughout the room while Remus glared daggers at him, when suddenly Ron ran into the kitchen. His face was flushed and his eyes wide as he looked from one person to another until he found Sirius.

"Ron?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Sirius," he gulped. "Dumbledore, he…it's…Harry."

At the mention of his godson, Sirius jumped from his seat and headed towards the front parlor, the others following close behind him. This wasn't good. Not good at all.

Even though Buffy had never met Harry, she knew that he was important. He was also supposed to be safely tucked away at his Aunt and Uncle's house for the moment. So the only reason he would be mentioned is if something had happened, because Dumbledore had refused to let the boy come to Grimmauld Place for the time being.

When they reached the parlor, they found Dumbledore standing there with an old woman in a bathrobe and Mundungus. The woman was crying, while Mundungus just looked guilty. He was the one who was supposed to be watching Harry that night. Wasn't he?

For his part, Dumbledore looked much older than Buffy had ever seen him. The twinkle that was always in his eyes was gone, and a thin, sad frown was on his face.

"Dumbledore," Sirius said. It was amazing how one word could beg for such a lengthy explanation.

But the old wizard did not say a word. Instead, he sighed and then held out his hand. In it, he held a holly wood wand.

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Harry stared at his cousin as the latter smiled smugly. A hot wind blew through the alley, stinging the back of Harry's neck, but he didn't notice. "What are you on about, Dudley?" he asked.

"I hear you at night," Dudley said. Clapping his fat hands together, he looked to the sky and began to mock Harry. "'No, Cedric! Help me, Mum! Help me, Dad!'" Dudley snorted, making him now not only look like a pig but sound like one as well. "Who's Cedric? Your boyfriend?"

"Shut it, Dudley."

"Oh, but I'm just getting started. 'There's so many. Keep them away. Please, Dad, keep the demons away.' You really are twisted, aren't you?"

"I said shut it!"

Harry blinked when he saw the sudden terror in his cousin's eyes and realized it was because he had drawn his wand and had it pointed at Dudley. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn't do this. Dudley wasn't worth getting expelled from Hogwarts and thrown out of the wizarding community. The problem was that Harry didn't care at that moment. The weeks of frustration caused by his not knowing anything, of his friends' cryptic messages and Sirius' empty letters, of having to be stuck with his rotten family while the others were together for the summer, were the only thing he could think of. And he wanted someone to feel as frightened and frustrated as he did at that moment.

"You can't. They'll toss you out of that place," Dudley said, his eyes flicking back and forth between Harry and the wand.

Harry grinned. "How do you know they didn't change that law, Big D?"

"They didn't," Dudley replied. "We'd know."

"That right," Harry said. "How?"

He didn't have an answer for that. They both knew that Petunia and Vernon would have no word of anything concerning the magical world in their house, so for all they knew, Harry could very well do magic outside of school now. He couldn't, and they were still pretty sure of that, but pretty sure and absolutely positive were two different things. With pretty sure, you could still frighten people.

That was when Harry felt it. The air around him was no longer hot and dry, but bone- chilling cold. And dark, so much darker than it had been mere moments before. No moon, no street lights; it was like being shut up in the cupboard with all the lights in the house off on the darkest night. All the happiness leaked out of Harry and he couldn't stop the shudder that traveled up his spine.

"What's going on?" Dudley asked. "What are you doing? You'd better stop it."

"Shut it," Harry said.

"I mean it," Dudley said. "You'd better stop or I'll hit you."

"I said shut it," Harry said testily, when something hard connected with the side of his head. He fell to the ground hard and felt his wand slip from his hand as flashes of light appeared before his eyes. Groaning, Harry felt around in the dark for his wand. When he found it, he wrapped his hand around the handle, shot it up in the air, and said, "Lumos."

The tip of Harry's wand began to glow, casting a ghostly light through the alleyway. He could see them, gliding towards him at the end of the alley. Their black cloaks moved in a non-existent wind, making the air feel chillier, if that were at all possible.

Dementors. Dementors were in Little Whinging.

And Dudley was running right at them.

"Dudley, stop!" Harry yelled to his cousin, but he continued to run, either not hearing him or choosing to ignore him.

Struggling to his feet, Harry tried to find a happy memory powerful enough to conjure a Patronus. It was true that he didn't like his cousin, but even Dudley didn't deserve to have the Dementor's Kiss performed on him.

Suddenly, a flash of white light filled the alley, temporarily blinding Harry. When he regained his sight, he saw his cousin lying on the ground, while a strange looking woman dressed in a red bodysuit stood between him and the Dementors. Dudley stared up in terror at her, before scrambling back towards Harry. Apparently, between the two of them, he was less afraid of Harry than of the woman. The Dementors stopped in their tracks and floated in the air for a moment, as if they were trying to decide what to make of the woman that stood in their path.

The woman tilted her head to the side as she regarded them. "Mortiliouses. I did not expect your kind to survive to this age," she said. "Leave now, and I'll spare your pathetic existences."

Harry blinked at the woman. She would spare 'their' lives?

After several seconds, the Dementors began to approach the woman. Their hoods were pulled back as they prepared to Kiss her. The woman didn't move.

"You have not gained knowledge with age, I see," she said.

Harry watched in awe and horror as the woman attacked the two creatures. Her fist struck out at the one closest to her, striking it in the head. It made a high-pitch screeching sound, which caused both Dudley and Harry to cover their ears. When Harry looked again, the woman had taken the Dementor in her hands, before throwing it into the other one. They crashed into the alley wall with a sickening crunch. Calmly, she walked to one of the trash bins and pulled out a metal bar that appeared to have been broken off from a chair.

The Dementors flew at her, both attempting to Kiss her as they passed by. Harry remembered that feeling and shuddered as he watched someone else experience it. Unlike Harry, though, the woman appeared not to be affected by them. Instead, when one of them made another pass, her hand shot out and grabbed the creature's throat. It once more screeched and scratched and pulled to loosen her grip, but she held tightly onto it.

"Stupid creature," she said contemptuously. "I once dined on your kind."

The woman then took the metal pipe and rammed it right thought the Dementor's head. Harry just stopped himself from screaming. He watched as the Dementor seemed to swell before exploding into ash. A cold rush of air blasted through the alley, nearly knocking Harry to the ground. He stumbled a moment, then regained his footing.

The death of the Dementor must have scared off its companion because light and heat started to slowly return to the alley. The woman stood there for several minutes, staring down at the pile of ash, then turned back to the two boys.

If Harry had thought that this woman wasn't normal before, he knew for sure now that she was facing them. Her face and hair were partly an unnatural blue and her eyes were a crystal blue color that Harry had only seen in ice. The body suit she wore was in fact a type of armor and was molded perfectly to her body.

She looked at Dudley. "You are Harry Potter, the spawn of James Potter." She tilted her head to the side. "You are much fatter than I expected."

"I'm not Harry." Dudley, who looked as if he might pee on himself, pointed at Harry while keeping his wide, frightened eyes on the woman. "He's Harry."

'Way to hold out, Big D,' Harry thought.

The woman turned her gaze to him. Harry tightened his grip on his wand and held it at her as she walked towards him. "Stay back," he said, trying to sound as threatening as he could, but the words stuck in his throat. "I'm warning you, stay away."

"You are Harry Potter," she said.

Harry gulped. "I don't know who you are, but I'm warning you. I'll use this."

"He's Harry!" Dudley yelled. "He's Harry Potter!"

"Shut it, Dudley!" Harry shouted back. The woman continued to advance towards him. "Stay-." Her hand shot out and wrapped around Harry's wrist before giving it a painful twist. He screamed and watched in terror as his wand fell to the ground. The woman looked to the wand on the ground, then back at him.

"You come with me," she said.

Before Harry could say another word, he felt a strange swish travel through his body and he and the woman disappeared from Little Whinging.

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James dug in the cabinets under the front desk in the hotel's lobby. He knew he had seen a box of tea here when he had been looking for a key to a room, he just knew it. Now if he could only find the bugger.

"I'm tellin' you, there's nothing there, mate," Spike said, sitting on the counter.

Spike was smoking a cigarette and looking rather bored as he kicked his feet back and forth. Of course, he probably was, since Angel had been busy that morning speaking with the bank about the hotel's mortgage, Sarah was still researching, and Illyria had gone missing early that morning. With Lorne away visiting that Gunn fellow in the hospital, that had left only Spike and James to wander about the hotel. Since he had no one else to bother, the vampire had decided to tag along with James that day.

"And I'm telling you there is," James said, moving another stack of fashion magazines that were several years out of date. Merlin, he couldn't get use to the fact the pictures didn't move. It was just eerie, like they had died or something.

"Do you really think that Watcher Boy would have left a box of his precious imported tea here when they moved out?" Spike asked, blowing smoke towards the ceiling.

"Well, I don't remember taking it out, so, yes, I do believe he did," James said, opening another drawer. He smiled when he saw a box with a British tea company's logo printed on it. Holding it up, he smirked at Spike. "Told you it was here."

Spike grumbled something when a flash of light exploded into the middle of the lobby. When it disappeared, James saw Illyria standing there, holding onto a boy's wrist. He looked utterly terrified as she held onto him.

James blinked as he stared at the child. He – he looked just like him.

From the counter, Spike said, "Bloody hell. We're in for it now."

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